Merry Christmas, Rodney
by SpaceMonkey0941
Summary: Atlantis's top Scrooge meets his match. Alex is property of Reefgirl. I know, I'm so original.


A/N: Yes, _another_ holiday one-shot, I know, I'm so effing predictable I could shoot myself, blah, blah, blah. HOWEVER. I blame it completely on the fact that Christmas is tomorrow. It's not my fault I get hyper in winter. So there. Nyah.

A/N: Alex is the creation of Reefgirl. I'm so original.

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"Whaddaya mean, you hate Christmas?"

John's voice was furious as he stared down at the cowering scientist.

"I mean," Rodney squeaked, then cleared his throat, stood up straighter, and began again, slightly stronger. "I mean that I. Hate. Christmas!"

It was all John could do not to smack the little nebbish right in the mouth, but he reflected that Santa could still be working on his list and decided against it. He opted for his patented Anti-Rodney Scowl™ instead. Rodney blanched.

"Look, Colonel, uh, haha, it's not that big of a deal," he began, hands held up placatingly as he backed away from John's advancing glare. "I've just . . . never been much of a holiday guy!" He ended with a shriek, diving under a table and flinching away from the approaching combat boots.

John sighed in annoyance. "Get up, geek, I'm not going to hurt you, I'm going to introduce you to the true meaning of Christmas."

Rodney peered out from under the lab equipment owlishly. "You mean like that hokey 'Ghost of Christmas Past' thing? I'm not Ebenezer Scrooge!"

Hands on hips, John waited for Rodney to get up and dust himself off, muttering, "Yeah, but you sure sound like him..." under his breath.

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A few minutes later, standing outside the infirmary, John pointed inside at the nurses busily getting ready for the flu and cold season.

"See that? That's a bunch of volunteers who would otherwise be at home with a mug of hot chocolate and their family, but chose to spend it here, on another planet, in another galaxy for Pete's sake, _working_, just so that we could have a healthy holiday."

Rodney grunted, unimpressed, but brightened as a thought struck him. "You said something about hot chocolate? I wonder if Alex has made any Christmas cookies yet..." he mused.

John looked at him confusedly. "I thought you didn't like Christmas?"

Rodney gave him a withering glance before setting off towards the kitchens. "I don't like _Christmas_, I just like Christmas _Cookies_."

John sighed again and ran to catch up to the astrophysicist. "I was going to take you over to the kitchens next anyway, so lead on, MacDuff."

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"Hello dears! Doctor McKay, just in time, I've just got a batch of lemon bars straight from the 'fridge with your name on 'em!" the jolly voice of Atlantis's Head Chef met their ears, along with many different tantalizing smells of cinnamon, nutmeg, and peppermint.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny, Alex, but I'm more in the mood for cookies if you've got any," Rodney answered hopefully.

"You're in luck, ducky, they just came out of the oven a few minutes ago. Hey Mick!" Alex Ramsey shouted to her assistant. "A plate of comfort and joy for our friends!"

"Take a look around, Rodney," John said softly. "Imagine this, only without all the food and people."

All the color drained from Rodney's face. "Wi-without . . . all the . . . without all the _food_?" he breathed. John took one glance at his friend's face and steered him over to a chair.

"Yes, Rodney, without all the food. Do you want it to be like that?" he continued.

Rodney, still white-faced, shook his head slowly as he sat down.

"Well then you should be thankful for people like Alex and Mick. They didn't have to come here, ya know. They could be back home sipping tea in front of a warm fire if they wanted. But instead they chose to come here, billions of light-years away from home, just so that we wouldn't starve while we fought life-sucking aliens."

But Rodney wasn't listening, just rocking back and forth muttering, "No . . . food? How . . . how awful! No food! That's terrible!"

Luckily it was at that moment that Mick showed up with a large platter positively heaped with colorfully decorated sugar cookies and brownies. "Trying to get 'im in the spirit of things, eh Colonel?"

John smiled wanly as he took a reindeer cookie and waved it in front of Rodney's face. "Yeah, Mick, but so far it's not going so well."

Alex bustled over with mugs of steaming hot chocolate. "I've got just the thing for him, John, you just sit down and leave it to me."

Rodney, eating his cookie with gusto, was oblivious to all of this, but a sharp jab to the side of the head from John directed his attention away from his food.

"Ow! What was that for, you acerebral zoophyte?" he whined, rubbing his head gingerly with his non-cookie-holding hand.

"Listen up, _Meredith_, Chef Alex has something she'd like to say to you," John hissed.

At the mention of "that name," Rodney perked right up and sat to attention.

"I'm, uh, all ears, Colonel."

"Good." John settled back to watch Alex work her magic. He figured ten minutes, maybe twenty, before she had Rodney groveling before her, asking for forgiveness. A small smile appeared on his face as he thought of that picture.

Alex folded her arms and stood silently, staring at Rodney. His eyes grew progressively wider and his face grew progressively paler as the minutes wore on, until finally (at the four-minute mark judging by John's watch), Alex broke the silence by saying, "Did you never have a Christmas when you were a boy, Rodney?"

Gulping and blinking a few times to clear the after-effects of The Stare, Rodney squeaked out a "Y-yes."

"And what were they like?" she asked.

"They . . . they were . . . alright I guess." he said, then added defensively, "None of my family was very into celebrations. Well," he amended, "except for my sister."

Alex pounced on this tidbit: "Except for your sister? She liked Christmas? Did you ever think about why that might be?"

Rodney shrugged, then attempted lighheartedness. "I always assumed it was for the presents," he joked, then seeing the somber faces around him he gulped again and fell silent.

"That's true enough, but it all depends on your definition of 'presents.' Do you mean the things people wrap up in parcels with shiny ribbons? Or do you mean the things people do that make your day better?" Alex inquired.

Rodney stuttered a bit but she continued, "Because if you mean the actions of those around you, then, Rodney, you will have one of the best Christmases ever. How many people do you think you interact with in a day?"

He reeled a bit with the sudden topic-change, but thought a bit and answered, "I don't know, maybe . . . 50 or 60?"

"Try _the entire population of Atlantis_." she said.

"The entire population? How do they . . . but I only . . . what?!" he sputtered.

John took up the conversation. "Well you've got the cleaning staff, without whom you would have a very dirty . . . well everything. You've got the cooking staff," he began to tick them off on his fingers, "without whom you would starve. You've got the technical staff, without whom you would have no hot water or lights. You've got the supplying staff, without whom you wouldn't get any food or supplies of any kind from the Daedalus, because there would be no one to order it for you. You've got the night staff, without whom you would have no protection from Wraith or any computer glitches or anything because it would hit while you were asleep. You've got your team, without whom you'd be dead several times over. You've got people like Elizabeth, without whom you wouldn't have a job here in the first place. There's more, shall I go on?"

Rodney shook his head dumbly. "I . . . I didn't realize." he mumbled.

Alex patted him on the shoulder. "It's alright Rodders, we love you anyways."

And with that, the happy mood was restored, and at nine minutes and twenty-eight seconds according to John's watch, Rodney McKay, Atlantis's top astrophysicist and resident Scrooge, started maybe kinda sorta not hating Christmas so much any more.

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A/N: So, too clichéed? Not clichéed enough? Somewhere in between? Review please, it makes me write better!


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